


Hands

by hailexcalibur



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Short One Shot, but there's like a tidbit of self-harm, just be careful, mostly implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22280293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailexcalibur/pseuds/hailexcalibur
Summary: Joan's on the verge of a breakdown. Grey is the only one who knows how to help.
Relationships: Gregory Lowell/Jonathan Ainsworth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Mentions of self-harm. Do click away if you're easily triggered.

“I-I’m sorry, I tried my best but I still haven’t come up with anything good…”

Joan has his hands clenched in his lap, and his head bowed. His voice was small, quiet and fearful. Shivers run down his frail body, and his heart plummets with each passing second. His bandaged wrists throb with pain, and an insatiable itch that comes up every time he fails spectacularly.

He was supposed to finish the logo for their faculty event today, but he’s been having severe creativity block and when Gregory came to check up on his progress, he feels so bad for having to say that he’s still at square one.

The senior student is responsible for all the designs that will be used during the event, and Joan is the core designer for most of the events’ necessities. Banners, ID cards, and most importantly, the _logo_. If Joan fails to submit anything before the deadline, then he’s not only ruining his own reputation as a committee, but the whole design team as well.

Most importantly, his sluggish performance would also affect Grey as the leader.

How useless. He shouldn’t have signed up, if all he’d do is be a burden.

Joan flinches when he sees Gregory stand up and sit beside him from the corner of his periphery, peering at his blank Photoshop file and tapping the edge of the coffee table with a finger. The freshman tenses up, and prepares himself for anything. A scolding, chastising, his removal from the team, whatever.

What he does _not_ expect was a tap on his shoulder.

He jerks his head up, and nearly scoots away when he’s met with the sight of Gregory honest to god smiling, with a hint of amusement sparkling in his narrowed eyes.

_Does he think this is a joke?_

“I can hear you thinking from here, you know,” the older teases, shoving Joan lightly as he responds with a half-hearted ‘ow’. “Don’t sweat it. We still have ten hours, right? Should be plenty of time to come up with something.”

Joan does not deserve the mercy of someone so forgiving, and so kind-hearted.

His can-do attitude seems to rub off on Joan, and he starts to smile, too. He crosses his legs, mimicking Grey, and picks up his stylus again, hand hovering in quick circles above his drawing tablet. “Yeah…You’re right,” Joan mutters softly, “We can do this.”

Gregory pats him on the back, _hard_ , and this time it actually does hurt. Joan pouts, and tries his damnedest to quench the butterflies in his stomach at the older raven’s chuckling. “That’s the spirit. Just ignore any suggestions for now, and focus on finishing what _you_ want to make, alright?”

Joan nods enthusiastically, and grins his trademark, eye-whisker grin.

“Mm-hm! Don’t worry, Grey! I won’t let you down!”

* * *

He’s going to let Gregory down.

Two hours until the deadline, and Joan’s been scrapping and revising doodles without actually saving any, while Grey is napping peacefully in Joan’s bed. The freshman doesn’t work well under pressure, and he’s been getting increasingly antsy and stressed as the day is coming to a close. Why does his talent fail him at the most inopportune times? Why can’t he just _do_ something properly? Why, why, _why_ does it feel like his body always tries to make him a disappointment to others, and himself included?

_You’re a letdown, you’re a letdown, you’realetdownyou’realetdownletdownletdownletdown LETDOWN LETDOWN—_

He lets out a frustrated whimper and throws his stylus on the table, backing himself up against the wall, knees pulled up and head buried as he curls up into a small, quivering ball. His hands are pressed tightly against his aching temples, eyes squeezed shut. _How useless_. His lithe frame heaves as he struggles to breathe, tears prickling the corners of his eyes and fat drops rolling down his pale cheeks. _How pathetic_. He sobs openly in the darkness of his room, trapped in his self-loathing bubble. _People like you should just disappear_. His fingers start to reach for his bound wrist, slipping through the bandages. The wounds are still raw, and with just a little scratch, he can get them open again.

**_SUFFER, WEAKLING._ **

_SLAP!_

The sound of skin against skin rings across the room as a pair of hands smacked his own together, and the demons in Joan’s head vanishes, dispersing from the force rattling his body. The boy recoils and looks up, blinking away tears to clear his vision, and Joan’s heart clenches.

Gregory’s kneeling in front of him, and the way he looks as hurt as Joan feels makes the younger’s insides twist into knots. Joan sniffles, and that seems to spur the senior into action.

“Hey, don’t do that,” his voice is gentle, as sweet as honey and rings melodically in his ears. It brings with him a sense of peace, mending his broken walls and encasing him in a protective shell. “Calm down, Jo. Take deep breaths, and rest for a moment. Don’t force yourself.”

A reminder of his responsibility looming over him brings back the tears full force, a choked sob escaping his lips. He wants to cover his face, ashamed of showing the older such a cowardice side of him, but Grey has his hands clasped tightly in his own, larger ones, and he has nowhere to escape to.

“B-but the deadline…” Joan says meekly, trailing off at the end. Grey shakes his head, and instead laces his hands with Joan’s, warmth seeping through their intertwined fingers. A comforting weight against his own, his palms covering his slender ones, thin and gangly, a silent assurance that he’s not alone.

“I’ll take care of it. You get some rest, clear your head, and I’ll help you with it,” the older seems to sense that Joan is ready to protest, but he quickly continues before he can get a word in, “There’s no point in continuing when you can barely even think. So…Take some time to calm down,” Grey squeezes his hand once, and the simple action is enough to make relief wash over him. He offers a tiny smile. Joan’s breath catches in his throat at how _warm_ it is, at how it’s directed to _him_ , heart jumping at the thoughtful gesture.

Joan doesn’t say anything as he wipes at his own, puffy eyes, but the returning squeeze should be enough of an answer for Gregory.

“Be a good boy for me, okay?”

Jonathan Ainsworth is undeniably in love with Gregory Lowell. So much, in fact, he promises he’ll do anything to return his kindness in any way he wishes.

“…Okay.”

That night, as Joan takes a power nap and Gregory sits beside the bed, he makes sure never to let go of Grey’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are highly appreciated!


End file.
